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by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hints at future possibilities, Hurt/Comfort, Post "Chosen", Post Season 07, Post Series, Post Sunnydale, Romance, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of Sunnydale, at a motel, Buffy realizes something. Basically, though, nothing happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written in one go, again, and not beta-ed (as always). Hope you like it!  
> I own everything I made up on my own. :)

**More**

They've been driving for hours and hours, not noticing the sun go down until it's actually dark outside. Wounds have been taken care of, tears cried, hugs exchanged, philosophical statements made; stiff upper lips regained and lost, and smiles remembered. Of course, it's Giles behind the wheel, and he's staring into the darkness that's retreating from the headlights inch after inch, mile after mile. The others are, having surrendered to their exhaustion, sleeping in the back, sprawled across the rows like children; only Buffy is sitting behind him, blinking far too often but keeping watch. After what feels like an eternity of silent driving, she notices that his hands become a little unsteady. Not too much; even in this state of exhaustion, Giles is too much himself to endanger them. Still - she stands up, very slowly, holding onto the yellow rod that separates them, and speaks in a voice so strangely tender that it makes even her wonder where all the calmness within her suddenly came from. "Let me."

Surprised, he looks up to her for just a split-second, focusing on the road immediately again. She sees his shoulders slump a little, relief written all over his face, dimly lit by the rays of the headlights reflected back through the windscreen. He pulls over, presenting her with a tiny smile; their fingers graze each other for the millionth part of a moment, but neither of them is aware of it to an extent that they would allow themselves to speculate around this tiny touch. Wordlessly smiling at him, Buffy exchanges places with her Watcher, allowing him to sit in the front row where he's supposed to be slightly more comfortable. She engages a gear and takes a deep breath. Giles is fiddling around with his ring, clearly trying not to doze off. Even though there isn't a chance she has caught a glimpse of his hands, she murmurs, "When's the last time you slept?" He doesn't answer; he can't remember. She hears him take off his glasses and clean them in the dark with the edge of his shirt that's everything but clean. "I've got it. Sleep for a few hours and I'll wake you." Worried about her, he puts his glasses back on, but before he can ask her whether she's sure or not, she says, plainly, "Please." And it convinces him, this tiny word, sailing right through his chest to somewhere over his left ribs. Without another word, he closes his eyes, finding sleep sooner than he can even think about doing so.

Almost exactly as the sun rises behind the empty horizon, he opens his eyes again, causing Buffy to hide her extensive yawn behind her palm. He can't help but smile at the sight. "Sorry," she grins. "I haven't had an audience for the past few hours." She pulls over. "Good morning, by the way." That was almost a wink, he thinks.   
The landscape's contours suddenly turn golden as she stands up. They stretch their legs for a few minutes, Buffy shivering slightly at the morning wind, and Giles wrapping her in his jacket. As they get back in, Giles immediately takes the driver's seat. "Your turn," he smiles at her, and the look in her eyes is incredibly grateful. A few years ago, she would have started nagging hours ago, then rejoiced perkily at his offer, he thinks, and knows she's thinking the same thing. A moment later, he sees her through the rear mirror, streched out in the first row and fast asleep.

Days later, they have settled down - for the moment - in a motel in a place that probably doesn't have a name. There is a lot of nothing and a kind of steppe around, and as she steps out onto the shared balcony, Buffy crookedly smiles at the thought that it is just like a blank page they're supposed to write a new life on. Hugging herself and a new sweater that's part of what Giles' funds managed to buy them all for another take at civilized life, she strolls over to his room that's right next to hers. Timidly, she knocks at his French window, but he doesn't seem to hear. After a moment of hesitation, she carefully pushes it open, seeing that it's ajar, and shyly enters. He is nowhere to be seen, and in order not to startle him, softly calls out his name. It is, however, enough, to alarm him for a moment, and instead of an answer, she hears a stifled curse coming from the bathroom. "Giles, are you okay? Can I come in?"  
He half-opens the door. "Yes, sorry. I-I just bloody cut myself." He leans over the washbasin, rinsing the last remains of shaving foam, hissing as the water touches the small cut on his right cheek. "Marvelous," he murmurs.

Guilt is written all over her face. "I'm so sorry. I thought you'd heard me." He gives her a tiny smile. "It's okay, Buffy, I've always been easily alarmed. It's a...a part of my job description, I suppose." She smiles back. The white handkerchief he's pressing to his cheek is getting stained, and as he sits down on the couch, he looks more defeated than when they were standing on the rim of the crater. She flits to the bathroom, fetching a small bottle and some cotton pads from the tiny cupboard behind the mirror, the fact that Giles would keep them in the same place as he had in Sunnydale demanding a small smile from her. She huddles up next to him and says, "Let me."

In an instant, both are brought back to the moment they shared on the bus. Since he doesn't object, she wets a pad and brings it up to his cheek with a touch so tender that he suspects his heart of having dared to stop for a moment. The careful movement with which she dabs the small blood trickle from his skin reminds them both of how carefully he had tended to her wound after the Cruciamentum. He has let his hands fall, watching her in disbelief, but almost allowing himself to smile. As she continues, he can't stop his mind from going through the time they spent at Sunnydale as if it were a home-recorded film; at the same time, her tender touch offers him some sort of long-deserved consolation.

She tries very hard to focus on the cut on his cheek and knows that it is, in reality, far too small to be tended to this extensively, but she doesn't dare to avert her eyes from it to meet his gaze. Finally, as she feels she can't possibly pretend any longer that it still needs to be cleansed, she half-turns to put the bottle and pads onto the couch table, shyly resting her hands in her lap afterwards. Both know this small act of affection means more than just taking care of a small shaving accident, that it is the reverse of what has happened between them before, an attempt at, if you will, making good. Suddenly, she is focusing very intently on the exquisitely ugly pattern of the carpet beneath her feet; after a moment, she feels his hand take hers. Something stings in her eyes as she understands that he forgives her, no, that he has already forgiven her weeks, months, years ago; that he has, in fact, forgiven her every single time. She doesn't look at him, but he sees her beaming smile anyway. After a heartbeat, their fingers interlock; she holds her breath but releases it as, again, she understands, she finally understands: this is more than friendship. Yes, they've been friends, family, partners in crime, comrades in arms, but this is different: this is more.

Slowly turning to face him, their fingers still entwined, she raises her eyes to questioningly meet his, and they seem to affirm everything she is at a loss to put into words. When, after a moment, he reads in her eyes the same, he releases a sigh that seems to come from so deep inside him that Buffy feels it carries the fear accumulated over years and years, and it makes her smile. The change in her expression makes him chuckle in enormous relief. He smiles back and she knows it must be the most beautiful thing she's seen in a long time. Their hands still together, she slowly raises her head, smiling almost knowingly, until - finally! - their lips meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)


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